“Look.” she said reluctantly and slowly walked back to me. The tension in the moment was now almost tangible. “That’s a work-in-progress... and I don’t know that I’m ready to share it…”“Why not?” My question was deliberately short. I was enjoying her mild panic.“I’d rather not.”“You make it sound like you’ve got a dismembered body under there.” I reached for the corner of the sheet. “Maybe your parents aren’t on a boat after all…”“No, don’t, please.” she looked at me, to the. Why? Washe sick? Was I sick? I couldn't figure it out. I guess Stacey's work, thedrugs and hypnosis had a permanent effect on my mind. I would getheadaches if I tried to think too much. I guess I was truly a Bimbo.We pulled into the parking lot and walked up two flights of stairs. Onthe door was a sign, Dr. Renton ? Plastic Surgeon. Now I knew what wasup. We walked in and were immediately ushered into an examining room. Itotally undressed and changed into a skimpy paper gown. Jeff said,. More

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